


slutty, slutty soulmates

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Explicit Sexual Content, First Meetings, Getting Together, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: Easy, not stupid. And maybe Dan does have some standards. Not like he’s thinking about settling for anything while he looks the guy up and down, so many of his boxes ticked it’s honestly a little overwhelming.orsoulmates and where not to find them
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 53
Kudos: 216
Collections: Phandom Fic Fests Holiday Exchange 2020





	slutty, slutty soulmates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JudeAraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudeAraya/gifts).



> hi jude :) u said "unironic soulmate fic. I love a good finding each other unexpectedly and getting together soulmate fic." and "slutty Dan or Phil (or fuck!boy Dan or Phil) with a happy ending. No slut shaming! All about sex positivity here." and i instantly said "well we gotta do both now don't we"  
> i hope you like <333

The bar is just starting to tip over the edge of too warm, the heat of bodies moving and pressing against each other nearly overpowering the short blasts of fresh, chilled air whenever someone comes or goes. 

Dan’s starting to toy with the idea of leaving himself, tugging at the loose collar of his jumper and leaning closer against the bar as one of those hot bodies brushes right past his back. 

It’s definitely an off night. One he sensed his first drink in, when dark eyes and a scruffy beard he couldn’t decide if he was jealous of or attracted to—both, probably—sidled right up to him. 

Dan was just pulling that _look_ onto his face, the _if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take me home_ Daniel Howell special. But he was barely able to part his lips before the guy was craning his neck to frown at whatever he saw—or actually, didn’t see—just below Dan’s left ear. Dan had rolled his eyes, brushed off the familiar apology with a, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever mate,” and tried so very hard to not let out the disappointed whine in his throat while he watched him walk away. 

That’s why he prefers the apps, he reckons—debates pulling out his phone right here at the bar while he absent-mindedly plays with the black straw in his drink with his tongue. 

Right in his pocket, the ability to filter out what most filter for, get someone in his bed without their first conversation being the ink on his skin. He doesn’t mind the inevitable look of disappointment when he knows it isn’t a deal-breaker for them—he’s not picky, really. But it’s even better when he finds someone who’s like him, the ones who don’t give a shit about soulmates. The ones who want to get his clothes off to touch, to feel, and not in search of that connection. 

It’s much easier to pull swiping through faces with an algorithm's assistance than at a bar like this, but he wanted to get out, enjoy a couple of slightly watery overpriced drinks and bask a bit in the way he’s looked at. 

Plus they’ve been spinning a constant stream of noughties pop hits since he came in, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bopping just a little. 

There’s something about getting that initial reaction in person that’s missed through the screen of his phone, though. He doesn’t care if that makes him a bit egotistical; he honestly needs it on nights like these where anyone of interest is looking right past him after a glance at a particular patch of his skin. 

He huffs a half-hearted laugh around his straw, catching it and sucking at the remaining dregs of his drink. There’s a bubbly laugh from the seat next to him. Dan flicks his eyes to the peony on their forearm, the same design he saw on the bartender when they slid his second drink over. He guesses he really sealed his fate when he chose to stay at the stool here, wonders if it’s really like that—two people so absolutely obsessed with each other they’re hard-pressed to want time apart. 

Dan feels suffocated by proxy. He pulls at his collar again as he shifts in his seat to put his back to them, letting the fabric ride up one side of his neck and fall over his other shoulder as he rests his chin on his hand. The fingers around his drink tap against the glass, then the wood of the bar. 

They’re itching for the phone in his pocket when he’s suddenly pulled into that moment he loves so much. 

It’s bright eyes at the other end of the bar, just coming in with the chilled air Dan was chasing, if the way he’s paused with his jacket halfway down his shoulders is anything to go by. Broad shoulders, _good_ shoulders, Dan’s brain supplies as his eyes move from blue to the white that’s hugging so nicely around the guy’s arms. 

The rest of his tee hangs loosely, some bright graphic design on the front that Dan’s too distracted by long legs clad in ripped jeans that nearly rival his own to actually process. He thinks he might actually be salivating by the time he looks back up to smirking pink lips—wishes he could blame it on any sort of lack of action, but that’s not at all the case. He doubts his bed has even cooled from the guy he pulled on Tinder last night, the one that stayed for a second round but not the sunrise. 

This guy is just unconscionably pretty, and Dan is just unconscionably horny. 

He’s tired of excuses anyway, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a little slutty. It’s really Dan’s preferred state of being. There’s just something good about catching someone’s attention in a packed bar, eyes going as if they’ve just been handed the most decadent dessert menu after a Michelin star meal. 

And, _god_ , it’s so much better when he’s looking too. 

Dan watches with amusement as the guy does a little shake of his head, coming back to earth. He shrugs off the rest of his jacket and leans in to say something to his friend beside him, getting an eye roll so dramatic in response Dan actually finds himself laughing. 

Dan can’t hear whatever his friends are shouting after him as the guy parts from them, but there’s an adorably annoyed look on his face—pink high on his cheeks—as he makes his way over to him. Something about it makes his heart swell. 

That’s not—Dan shakes the thought out of his head. He pushes himself up off his elbow on the bar and sits up straighter in his stool, rolling his neck a little but never losing his hold on those bright eyes. They get darker as he gets closer, and Dan has half a mind to be offended at the way they don’t flick down the length of his neck, to his exposed collarbone and the peek of his shoulder. But with the way his eyes are staring into his, so hungry, burning heat right in the center of his chest, he knows it isn’t for any lack of attraction. 

It’s almost nice. Not having eyes trace every available inch of his skin before approaching. Dan wishes he could return the gesture, but it’s nearly impossible to not follow the trail of his pale arm lifting and flexing as he runs his fingers through the dark quiff on his head a few times. That only leads to following his hand back down, fixating on those long legs that are even closer than before—little flashes of white high up on his thigh whenever the pulsing lights hit him just right. 

If it’s the thought that counts, at least Dan isn’t searching for anything. He’s just looking, appreciating, and, _apparently_ , still salivating. 

Dan swallows hard, looking up before he actually has to duck his head to keep his eyes on that tantalizing strip of skin. 

He’s met with a disarmingly wide smile, the darkness of his eyes so starkly contrasted by the crinkles at their corners. Dan feels that funny feeling in his chest again. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy asks before Dan can get too in his head about it. He gestures to the empty drink in front of him and Dan shakes his head. 

“A coke?” Dan suggests without missing a beat, liking the way the guy’s smile never falters. Something tells him he doesn’t want to remember any of this with blurred edges, he’s also never really been a fan of any guy that gets weird when he declines an offer of alcohol. 

“Yeah?” he says easily, only breaking their eye contact to lean his long body over the bar to grab a bartender’s attention. 

Easy, not stupid. And maybe Dan does have _some_ standards. Not like he’s thinking about settling for _anything_ while he looks the guy up and down, so many of his boxes ticked it’s honestly a little overwhelming. 

He wonders briefly if it’s just the desperation, how goddamn horny he is, putting a mirage over a very regular guy. But Dan isn’t buzzed enough to let that thought have any traction, he’s too close now to those sharp features and incredibly soft looking skin. He’s very much real, and very much sliding onto the stool in front of him. 

If Dan believed in luck, or karma for waiting it out and not falling into the bed with the first face on his phone, he’d be singing the universe praise right about now. 

He doesn’t though—leans right into the guy’s space instead. His knee feels good under Dan’s hand, not as warm as the air between them, but solid, nice to press some weight on. 

“Dan,” he says with a squeeze. 

“Oh!” The guy’s eyes go brighter. He does a little huff of a laugh, scrunches his nose in a way that makes Dan’s brain go into an overdrive of: _cute cute cute._ “You’re not that bad yourself.” 

Dan blinks. It takes him a second, but then he’s barking a cackle right in this hot guy’s face. Attractive, definitely. 

“No,” Dan laughs. “Well, _yes_ , but,” he points at his own chest with his free hand, “ _Dan_.” He holds strong on the n, enunciating loudly as if he’s teaching someone a new word and not trying to introduce himself in the middle of a packed bar. It’s oddly fitting how caveman it makes him feel. 

“ _Oh,_ ” he says again. “Oops!” The laugh that follows is all light and delighted. Dan kind of wants to lean over the bar, grab an empty pint and see if he can pour the sound right from the tapped source. 

He _really_ wants to tap this source… 

“Philll,” he hangs on the l for far too long with a playful look in his eyes. If it’s an attempt at mocking, it definitely falls flat with Dan’s immediate fixation on the tongue poking between his teeth. He subconsciously squeezes harder at Phil’s knee, and it elicits another one of those intoxicating laughs. 

He should probably be saying something, responding instead of just rubbing his thumb against the side of Phil’s knee, staring into blue that swirls so much more as the colourful lights come and go. A compliment, a chat up line, small talk—anything. 

But for whatever reason, it doesn’t feel like they need any of that. Especially not with the way Phil seems to be undressing Dan with his eyes. 

Someone clears their throat—neither of them—and a hand swipes away Dan’s drink, wiping away the condensation it left on the bar top in one quick motion. They both look up, startled—caught in whatever _this_ is. 

Dan almost wants to say fuck the drink all together, wants to slide off the barstool and press himself between Phil’s distractingly open legs. He wants to find out if that skin is as soft as it looks, tip the bottom of his chin up with a finger, purr something absolutely filthy in the shell of his ear and punctuate it with the light press of teeth against skin—something of an appetizer that’ll have him falling off his own stool, following right on Dan’s heel all the way home. 

“Sorry, hi!” Losing Phil’s eyes shocks Dan right out of that fantasy. “Can we get two cokes,” Phil looks from the bartender to Dan, Dan gives him a little nod, “and- _ooo!_ Do you do chips?” 

Dan’s eyes flick from the side of Phil’s face to the bartender, holding back a laugh at the look on their face as they nod. 

“Yeah,” Phil does what Dan can only describe as a little wiggle dance in his seat, “an order of chips as well, thanks.” 

Dan doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling. He keeps doing those little huffs of laughter, air leaving his nose as if he’ll float right up to the ceiling if he doesn’t expel the bubbling fondness in his chest. 

He guesses they’re having a few cokes and some chips—and he’s not mad about it in the slightest. It’s almost… _good_ to let himself take a breath and savour whatever this is instead of his usual _go go go_ rush to get someone under or over him. A different kind of pleasure. 

-

“Porn?!” Dan near shrieks, coughing a bit on the chip he just popped in his mouth that got sucked down the wrong tube with his laughter. Phil’s hiding behind his hands, pale skin absolutely beet red and adorable. He takes them away when Dan keeps coughing, leans forward in an absolutely mortifyingly sweet way to clap his hand against his back a few times while Dan reaches for his half-full coke. 

“He thought you did _porn_?” Dan asks again once he’s caught his breath. 

Phil is so much closer now, letting their legs slot together as he sits on the very edge of his stool. Where his knee was just pressed against Dan’s, it’s now sitting trapped between Dan’s thighs—so close to pressing right against his crotch. All he’d need to do is scoot himself forward as well, teeter on that edge. 

But he’s far too invested in the horrifying story Phil just told him—the deer in the headlights look he’s giving him right now in response. 

“Oh my god,” Dan gasps. 

“I really need to move-” 

“He _still_ thinks you do porn?!” 

They erupt in laughter that somehow seems too loud, even for a bar that’s absolutely blasting _Crazy in Love_ in their ears as they try and try—and fail—to contain it. It feels good to have someone gasping for breath in the crook of his neck like this. Feels right. 

“What about you, Daann…” Phil lifts his brows, squeezes where his hand has found home at Dan’s side. 

“Howell.” He doesn’t know why he provides it so easily, or maybe he knows exactly why. 

“Dan Howell,” Phil smiles, “what do you do?” 

_Put words together. Dick around. Put dicks in my mouth._

“I write,” Dan says. He scrunches his nose. “Traditional media,” he adds, sardonic. That makes Phil laugh. Actually, Dan doesn’t think he’s ever really stopped laughing. He doesn’t think he’s ever met someone that’s giggled this much—doesn’t know why it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. 

“Oh, the horror.” 

“Truly, truly awful.” Dan looks down with a smile, trailing his hand up from Phil’s knee. “Nah, it’s not that bad, really. Decent pay, flexible hours, my homebody ass gets to work from home.” He slips the tip of his finger in the rip that’s high up on Phil’s thigh—revels in the sharp intake of breath it elicits, the barely audible whine that follows. 

Dan wiggles his finger, strokes at the ridiculously soft skin there. 

“I don’t-” Phil starts, and stops. Dan stills, suddenly worried he’s got all of this wrong. “It’s not there.” 

“Oh,” Dan almost laughs at that, “I’m not looking.” He looks up, nearly bumping their noses together with how close they’ve got—sees what looks to be something of relief on Phil’s face. 

“Good,” Phil says, soft. He sounds like he means it. That alone makes Dan melt. “Finger away then!” Phil adds with a cheeky grin. 

“Don’t-” Dan snorts. He lets his head fall to Phil’s shoulder, shaking with the laughter he’s trying to keep in. 

“What?” Phil asks, pinching at Dan’s side, as if he’s completely innocent. Dan’s just grateful that the sound of his witch cackle is muffled by loud music and the soft fabric of Phil’s shirt. 

“You know what?” Dan hums. His lips drag up Phil’s neck as he makes his way to his ear. “I like you.” 

It’s not very sexy, definitely not one of his usual lines. But it does the trick all the same. 

Phil pulls him closer, almost pulling him right off his seat—Dan doesn’t think he’d mind that, actually. His hand is hot at his side, his mouth hotter by his ear, tongue poking out to play with the little silver hoop there. 

“Let me take you home,” Phil says, low in his ear. 

“Yeah.” Dan remembers words, but slurs them as if he’s a hundred times less sober than he actually is. He slides off his stool, into Phil’s arms. “Yeah, fuck yeah.” 

-

“Christ Phil, how many feet do you have?” Dan giggles, a firm hand around his elbow—just barely stopping Phil from tripping _up_ the stairs. They both manage to get up the last few steps in one piece, albeit considerably breathless. Dan reckons he’s been out of breath since they locked eyes in the bar, and it doesn’t quite help that Phil’s flat is up two flights of stairs. 

“Two.” Phil pulls a set of keys from his jacket, fiddling with the actual unhinged amount of keychains he has on them. “I hope,” he adds, briefly abandoning his mission to look down at his feet in horror. 

“Shhh.” Dan presses himself up against Phil’s side, pinches his fingers around the only key on the chain and dangles it in front of Phil’s face. 

“Why are you shushing me?” Phil laughs. He swipes the key _and_ Dan’s hand, tugging him down the hall. 

“I meant left feet.” Dan shakes his head, like that was obvious. “How have you survived this long?” 

“Is it too cheesy to say you’ve swept me off my feet?” 

“Not when I just had to save you from concussing yourself on your own building’s front door.”

Phil stops them a few doors down. Dan definitely doesn’t whine in the back of his throat when Phil drops his hand—because apparently sticking a key in a lock is a two handed endeavour. 

“My knight in shining… striped jumper,” Phil says, turning around with a very interesting rendition of a wink once he pushes the door open. He grabs a fistful of said jumper and pulls Dan over the threshold with a surprising lack of any tumbles, his mouth on Dan’s before his brain can even start to form a response. 

The lack of talking is the opposite of a problem, really—Dan’s mind teetering between blissfully blank and completely over-sensitized as Phil, seemingly expertly, walks them backwards through his flat. They lose clothes along the way. Dan is far too preoccupied with the way Phil whines whenever he tugs at his bottom lip to really care about where his left shoe just went flying or the fact that his dry-clean only jumper was just left abandoned in a stranger’s carpeted hallway. 

Those are problems for whatever a.m. Dan, just a larger playing field for the quiet collect and retreat game he’s gotten so good at. Right now, all he can focus on are the hands cupping his face and the hot mouth on his, tasting of Coke and urgency as Phil pulls him through an open door. 

He removes a hand to actually flick a light on as they make their way inside, Dan breathing in sharp and blinking a few times to adjust his eyes from the darkness they were becoming adjusted to. 

Everything is so… bright. Even as Phil dims the overhead and steps away to turn on the PlayStation lamp on his bedside table. 

Bright bed sheets. Bright walls. Dan finds himself wandering forward, pulled towards the chaos of colours on the bookshelves opposite Phil’s bed. 

“Sorry.” He stops in his tracks, feeling his cheeks heat. “Being nosy.” He turns his head, a light chuckle of surprise at how close Phil is. 

Bright eyes. 

Phil giggles, taking that one step forward and pulls Dan in close against his chest. “Hopefully the nerd stuff isn’t too much of a turn off,” he says between the kisses he presses up the side of his neck. 

“Oh no,” Dan shakes his head, putting his hand over Phil’s on his stomach and pulling it up to his chest, “Big nerd.” He lets his head fall back, shivers when Phil instantly catches him in a kiss. 

Phil kisses at the corner of his mouth. “Oh really?” he asks against his cheek on his way back to his neck, the tickle making Dan’s nose scrunch up. 

“Yeah,” Dan breathes. “Also big Muse fan,” he nods to the framed poster on the far wall, “good choice.” 

Phil hums something against his neck that sounds an awful lot like a muffled, “ _God.”_

Dan whines as the lips disappear all together, Phil’s arms loosening around his middle. 

“You keep getting more and more perfect.” Phil squeezes at Dan’s side before letting go, says, “You have as much time as it takes for me to run to the bathroom to snoop through my shelves,” before Dan can even process his previous statement. 

Dan snorts, turning on his heel to watch Phil walk out of the room—very much appreciating the way his butt jiggles under the bright blue stars that cover his pants. _Perfect_ would definitely be a word. 

He almost flops right down on the bed, but it’s far too tempting. Dan fiddles with the fly of his jeans as he steps around it instead, doing his little wiggle and hop dance to be freed of them while he makes his way over to peruse the titles and toy figures sitting on Phil’s tall shelves. 

Dan’s eyes follow his finger, trailing along the spines of the Stephen King books that are shoved in around a massive _Buffy The Vampire Slayer_ box set. 

_People still own box sets?_

He smiles to himself as he spots a few more, anime titles he recognizes—loves. There’s a concerning amount of thriller novels mixed in with all the DVDs. Almost enough to have Dan crouching down to fish his phone from his jeans and ping someone his location, but he doesn’t think anyone with a tiny framed photo of shirtless Chris Hemsworth next to an _Adventure Time_ figure could really be the serial killer type. 

It drives him a little mad that Phil just has novels and comics and DVDs all intermixed with each other in no particular order—makes him want to pull them all off and reorganize them with some semblance of a system right here in his Calvins, but he holds himself back. He wants this guy to fuck him too badly to risk getting thrown out for being some organizational weirdo. Like, _hey you ordered a one-night stand but you actually got gay Marie Kondo, sorry about that._

Not like he would necessarily declutter though. Dan picks up the soft little Totoro plush sitting on a horizontal stack of _Spider-Man_ Blu-rays, giving it a squeeze before setting it back down. 

It’s cute. The Totoro plush and everything Phil’s got going on here. 

He’ll explain away the warm feeling settling in his chest as Phil reappears and wraps his arms around him as a by-product of being so over the top horny. It’s really nothing more than that. 

“You have too much clothing on,” Phil’s voice is low in his ear. Dan spins around in his arms, takes advantage of the space between them and snaps the waistband of his pants, getting a cute little yelp in response. He looks down at the one remaining sock on Phil’s foot with a smirk. Pink doughnuts. 

Should a sock really be making his heart feel this warm? 

“You’re wearing more than I am,” Dan points out. He surges forward, capturing Phil in a kiss as he rolls his hips forward—replacing any lingering warmth with pure heat. 

Phil mumbles something against his mouth, completely lost with how he kisses him back, matching his intensity. He buries a hand in Dan’s curls and uses it as leverage to pull him closer. If that’s even possible. 

“What’s that?” Dan hums between them, letting his hands slide from Phil’s hips to get a good handful. Phil bites at his lip as he squeezes, tugging until Dan whines and presses his hips forward again—finding Phil getting just as hard as he is. 

The sound leaves his throat again. He can’t help it. It’s not like he’s normally quiet, the opposite really, it’s just- 

Phil is just doing something to him. 

“I said, you should do something about that then. God, you’re noisy.” 

Dan slides his hands under Phil’s waistband—he doesn’t need to be asked twice. “Problem?” 

Phil shakes his head fervently. “No. S’good. You know-” 

“The porn thing?” Dan lifts a brow, biting back the hyena laugh that’s desperate to come out. 

“Shut up!” Phil untangles his fingers from Dan’s hair to smack at his shoulder. He’s absolutely full of giggles. 

The hyena laughter, unfortunately, comes out. 

“It does come in handy,” Phil adds with a sly smile and another one of those blinking winks. 

Dan wants to kiss it right off his stupid, perfect mouth. So he does. 

-

Phil seems to have the whole hookup thing down to a science. More so than Dan does himself, which is definitely saying something. 

He pulls open his bedside drawer when he’s got Dan on his lap, trailing wet kisses down his neck. 

“Pick your poison,” Phil says, and Dan pulls away, leans over to see bottles of lube more organized than his bookshelves. 

Which, he guesses isn't saying much considering the chaotic state of them. But… just trust him on this one. They’re the most organized lubes Dan’s ever seen. 

He can’t help but let out a loud honk of a laugh at the sight, but he’s all too quick to pluck out his favourite. 

A match made in heaven—if Dan was the type of person that entertained those kinds of ideas. 

Phil even has a whole selection of condoms he seems to be very proud of, brings out a box from under his bed he’s dubbed “ _the fun ones”_ and drops it right on Dan’s lap. Weird colours and flavours, funky ribbed patterns, some just having interesting designs on their foil packaging. 

“Oo,” Phil sticks his hand in the box, bumping against Dan’s to pull one out, “These ones glow in the dark!” 

Dan hates that it only makes him like Phil more. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed this much while discussing condom logistics, completely out of breath by the time Phil shucks his weird box away and tosses his regulars on the bed. 

He doesn’t remember the last time being absolutely fucking silly with someone actually turned him on _more_. Doesn’t think it ever has, to be honest. Phil is just… different. 

And it’s one of those times when different definitely means good. 

More than good. Like, _about to fucking come just from his own fingers because Phil’s saying something so goddamn ridiculous from above him he can barely breathe from his laughter,_ so fucking good. 

Not the kind of breath play he ever thought he’d be into, but he’s _really_ not going to complain. 

-

It’s good. Almost too good—suspiciously good. Phil all hot and heavy above him, fucking him with what seems to be an _insistence_ that Dan forgets his own goddamned name. 

He’s been a steady stream of Phil’s actually, whimpered and groaned and cursed—the name doesn’t seem to want to leave his tongue. Might very well be introducing himself as Phil for the foreseeable. Like: _Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Phil. No- Dan, sorry. I’m Dan. Phil is the guy that dicked me down real good last week._

Dan’s sure he lost his mind all the way back at the club, but he’s losing it again now, actually fucking panting as his blunt nails dig into the muscle of Phil’s shoulder, and he’s already thinking about doing this again. 

Not a second round—well, _yes please_ , that too—but something more frequent. Something that leads to his number in Phil’s phone, Phil’s dick frequently in his mouth— _God_ , he wants Phil’s dick in his mouth. 

Phil swallows the moan that slips from his throat at the thought, a soft hand wrapping around his cock and tugging in a polyrhythm to his thrusts. It works somehow, the sporadic flick of his wrist bringing him so close to the edge, the tip of his cock leaking on every upstroke as he bites down on Phil’s bottom lip. 

And he’s so close. So stupid for it that he doesn’t think, just does.

“Fuck, Phil,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in soft black hair and pulling lightly. He wants, _needs_ more. 

He looks up at eyes so dark, he’d probably forget what colour they actually are if he’d had more to drink. But he doesn’t think he could ever forget that blue, sitting just on the very edge of the black that’s staring down at him. 

Phil slows his hips, long and languid as his breath puffs against Dan’s damp skin. It takes Dan right out of his mind, eyes rolling back with his shoulders as he lets out a long, strangled whine. 

“Shit, what the fuck was I-” Dan groans again, curls getting absolutely destroyed as he grinds his head back against the pillow, Phil still going for that mind-numbingly slow pace. He’s really fucking making Dan work for it. 

Phil is smirking down at him—the bastard—a low chuckle slipping from his throat that Dan can fucking _feel._

“ _God_ , well proud of yourself, are you?” Dan huffs out a laugh that falls into a sound he didn’t even know he could make as Phil presses in hard and stays there. 

Phil laughs—giggles actually—and drops his head to Dan’s shoulder, pressing kisses to the skin there. Kisses that are far too soft for any one-night stand. 

Dan’s too far gone to care. He pushes into it, actually, feeling Phil’s lips all the way down to his toes as he grinds his hips in small, impatient circles. 

“It should be illegal to feel this good, you feel so good,” Phil hums against his skin. “So hot.”

Phil takes his time kissing praise up Dan’s neck. He leaves Dan to mostly just fuck himself on Phil’s stilled hips with little pleading whines, shivering at the warm breath against his neck at every little huff of laughter. 

Phil rolls his hips once, groaning low in his throat with it as Dan lets his head fall back. He chases him, still pressing deep—but not deep enough—as he finds his lips and kisses him quite sweetly. Short, almost chaste, before pulling back just enough to meet Dan’s eye. 

“Hi,” Phil says, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“‘Ello?” Dan nearly slurs, looking up at Phil with wide, blown-out eyes. 

“You were going to say something?” Phil looks at him expectantly, that stupid, perfect smile never leaving his lips. Something about it just makes his heart flip, makes something pull deep in his stomach—or maybe he just really fucking needs to come. 

“You’re more in my mind than I am.” Dan huffs out a laugh, doing a little shake of his head to try to just capture one single thought before it floats away. “Fucking me stupid,” he mutters, dick twitching at the blatant pride that washes over Phil’s face. 

He can’t help but surge up and kiss it. 

“Mmm!” Dan wiggles his hips as he remembers. Phil lets go of his puffy bottom lip with one last little tug and Dan follows him up with an arm around his neck, humming into his ear. “Wanted you to fuck me from behind, use me, press me into your sheets.” 

“ _Dan_.” Is all he gets in response. 

“Yeah?” Dan purrs. 

“Get on your knees.” 

Dan doesn’t need to be asked twice. He scrambles around, probably not in his sexiest display, but with the noises Phil is making behind him he really can’t find it in himself to care. He presses himself down against Phil’s bed, sheets soft on his cheek as he arches his back and sways his hips, asking for exactly what he wants. What he so rarely gets. 

But Phil seems fine. 

Dan feels warm hands kneading into his skin, spreading him apart, sliding firm up to his hips. 

Phil seems like he really doesn’t care about the whole soulmates thing, like he won’t freak out the second he sees-

“Shit.” 

Dan repeats Phil’s sentiment over and over in his head as he buries his face in his pillow. He knows the exact stretch of skin Phil’s fingers are brushing over, and when they keep circling over it he knows he made a mistake. 

And here he was, getting the best dick of his life… of course he had to be greedy and ruin it. It’s why he doesn’t sleep around in his favourite position—cosmically fucking cursed by the mark just _barely_ above his left cheek. It’s almost laughable, really. Like maybe there is some truth to all of this, and it isn’t just the nonsense Dan likes to think. The universe having its little laugh stamping him forever right on his ass, like: “Oh we know this one’s going to be a little slutty—let’s inconvenience him.” 

Phil goes quiet for a while, the room falling to their soft breathing. The only thing connecting them being the hand at his right hip and the pads of Phil’s fingers tracing over and over—featherlight. 

Lifting his face from the pillow, not daring to look anywhere but the side of Phil’s night stand, Dan softly hums, “Phil?”

Phil breathes in deep at that, his right hand flexing as he holds it for what feels like both seconds and hours. Dan feels his exhale like a cool breeze against his skin.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Phil’s voice is like a shock to his system, that northern lilt deeper than before, “how pissed would you be right now if I ruined the mood?” 

“Huh?” 

If anyone ruined the mood here, it was Dan and his stupid fucking horny brain not thinking properly. 

Dan doesn’t get up, just shifts enough so he can look back at Phil. His hair has fallen out of its perfect quiff and into his face, some bits of soft black sticking to his forehead—mostly Dan’s doing, he reckons. He’s looking down, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth with a crease between his brow. 

It’d be a hot image, something nice to store away and come back to, such an attractive guy pressed up against him staring down at his ass like this. But when Phil looks up his eyes aren’t at all the dark and lidded they were before. They’re wide, almost glistening wet in the dimmed light of the room.

He looks so much younger like this, face full of apprehension. 

Dan definitely fucked up. He almost wants to get snappy about it, but he doesn’t have the heart—he genuinely fucking feels bad. Can’t bring himself to say anything other than the, “Sorry,” that slips from his lips. 

“That’s why I usually don’t have people-” Dan gestures to his position, uses the hand he waves around to push himself up, because he’s starting to feel more than a little ridiculous all exposed on his hands and knees like this. 

The grip on his hip goes easily, and Dan turns around, sitting to face the still kneeling Phil with his legs hugged to his chest. 

“They usually get weird about it. I thought you- so I thought it’d be okay-” Dan’s aware he’s starting to babble, but he just can’t stop it. “I don’t know.” He shakes his head, sweaty curls bouncing and sticking to his forehead as he pulls his legs tighter against himself. “You know, even the people who explicitly say they don’t care get like this sometimes so like-” 

“Dan stop,” Phil cuts him off, voice almost pleading. 

“Sorry.” 

“No. Don’t.” Phil sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. When he looks back at Dan there isn’t a shred of doubt that his eyes are wet. 

Then he laughs. Something huffed and short and almost a little hysterical, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to...” 

Phil shifts around on his knees, wobbling only a little on the plush softness of the bed, and sits right down on his heels when his back is turned to Dan. 

The glance is immediate. After so many years, so much insistence that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t looking, it’s the first fucking thing he looks at. 

And everything clicks. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

He can’t breathe. Or maybe he can. Maybe he’s really fully breathing for the first time in his life—everything else just floating around him as his brain zeros in on the dark ink against smooth, pale skin. Unmistakably identical. 

Dan doesn’t look at it as often as most, but it’s undeniable. He knows immediately—maybe is even a little jealous that Phil’s got all those cute freckles around it in the dead middle of winter. 

With the way he’s moving forward on autopilot, walking over on his knees and reaching out to touch, to hold, maybe he already knew. All the way back in that bar, watery vodka on his tongue and Britney in his ears, he shifted in his seat and changed the course of his future in one glance at the very same wide blue eyes that are turning to look at him now. 

Dan always thought when this moment arrived he’d want to run, want to be literally anywhere else but facing such a big, impossible thing. 

He was so, so wrong. 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. 

He feels it so viscerally, like a punch to the chest that nearly knocks him backwards. But Phil is holding to him tight, doesn’t let Dan fall anywhere but right into the crook of his neck. 

“This is not how I expected my night to go,” Phil says, a hand splayed against Dan’s back and the other cupping the back of his head, gently petting at his hair. 

“Me. Fucking. Either.” Dan punctuates each word with a sniff and a half-hearted fist against Phil’s chest. 

Phil giggles, all wet and hiccupy as he tightens his arms around Dan and holds him closer. 

It’s as ridiculous as the situation—and all Dan can seem to do is laugh. 

-

Of course he wasn’t going to let the universe and _soulmates_ blue ball him. 

And sometimes, all a guy really needs after a good, life-altering cry, is to let another dude fuck the shit out of his throat until his eyes are leaking again. 

-

He’s sitting in the corner of Phil’s sofa now, neither of them able to sleep. He’s all pink and warm from a shower, in soft clothes that don’t belong to him but fit as if they do. A sweet scent that’s only just starting to become familiar clings to his skin, and Dan doesn’t think he could be more surrounded by Phil if he tried.

There’s a steaming hot chocolate cupped between his hands, in a Mario mug Phil tried to plonk about a hundred mini marshmallows into before he stopped him. 

Phil was absolutely scandalized, gasping about how he couldn’t possibly spend eternity with someone that didn’t like marshmallows while Dan only fell further and further. 

“I like marshmallows,” he had said, “I’m just vegan. So like, the vegan ones. Well good.” 

“Ohh.” Phil looked genuinely relieved—like out of everything _that_ was going to be the deal-breaker. Then, a look of pure horror. “I don’t think that’s vegan,” Phil said, eyes widening. “Like, I made it with water, but… _milk_ chocolate.” He whispered that last bit as if he said it any louder some sort of milk monster would apparate right in front of them. 

Dan shrugged, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “I choose my battles.” 

“Yeah?” There was something on Phil’s face that said he was asking about more than a bit of dairy in Dan’s drink. 

Dan took a sip, smiling around the mug. “Yeah.”

Dan may or may not have been dabbling in a bit of double meanings himself then. 

It’s a choice, definitely. A choice to not round up his clothes in the darkness. A choice to hold close and be held close without the intent of another round. A choice to watch the dawn of a new day out of someone else’s window, from the crease of their sofa instead of a paused glance before dipping out their door, because he _wants_ to be there. 

He wants to be here with Phil. 

He feels far too in control to fight against something he technically has no control over, even though he’s spent so much time running from it believing the exact opposite to be true. It’s soothing in a way, realizing that. He reckons that’s how it’s supposed to feel. 

He understands now—the craze, the hype, the desperation. All of it. 

He looks over his mug at Phil with a fond smile hidden behind its rim. His feet are tucked up under Dan’s thighs—shoved the frigid things right under there while murmuring something about a space heater—and he’s stretching towards the coffee table to retrieve the bag of marshmallows so he can re-up the mountain atop his hot chocolate. 

He has glasses on now, thick black frames that just make so much sense, and they’re slipping down his nose as he shakes the bag over his mug. He doesn’t push them back up when he settles back into the cushions, leaning against Dan’s side and settling in as easily as the last piece of a jigsaw. 

And when Dan leans over to gently fix Phil’s glasses, pushing them up and pressing a kiss to his temple, he feels so very much in love.   
  



End file.
